The Forgotten
by LatibuleFizzgig
Summary: There was another. While Max and the flock was off saving the world, she was still there; still alive. What happened to her? Well...
1. Chapter 1: She Remains

AN: Okay, this is my first Maximum Ride fic. I was rereading The Angel Experiment when I read the part about this one girl. I don't remember her EVER being mentioned in any other book, so--with my mind that is always finding a way to make a story my own--I came up with Trix.

Disclaimer: I WISH I owned Maximum Ride...tis an awesome storyline. James Patterson one-upped me on that one.

Hope you like her!

Risa

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_"It is sure the hardest science to forget!"~Alexander Pope_

_"But they still managed to forget me!"~Trix Robin_

**Chapter One**

**_She Remains_**

You forgot about me. I'm almost 100% sure about that. Really, it isn't your fault. It isn't like you could _do_ something even _if_ you remembered me. Heck, the only people that _did_ do something forgot about me, but they've had a lot on their plate—saving the world and all.

Still wondering who the heck I am? Figures. Sure I only made one appearance in front of a few other mutants and an evil scientist but… Nevermind, it's probably a good thing you forgot me. No way for people to run after me if, in their memories, I don't exist.

Going on; my name is Robin Trix. Or Trix Robin—whichever strikes your fancy. I usually go by Trix except for this one annoying dude…but I'll get to that later. I have red—strawberry blonde for you detail fanatics—hair and creepily dark green eyes. I'm kinda pale and pretty tall for my age (I think…I'm still not sure what my age is). My wings are—

Oh yeah. I have wings. No biggie. And I spent most of my life in New York, New York's, sewers.

Ringing a bell now?

Well, I have my own set up here in NYC. I'm a crime fighter—like Spiderman except not as retarded. And, I fight the crime that New York's best fail to fight. Like, say, laying X amount of people to give the CEO's a quick buck. Like Robin Hood (hint, hint). So, technically, I'm a criminal fighting crime. Go figure.

And yes, I wear a mask. Not like Spiderman's, but Zorro or the Phantom, Erik. You know, the one he wears to the masquerade ball? Zorro and Erik are cool. I could really use a sword. Not a cape; that could be a hazard to my health.

Anyway, the mask. I want to be able to walk down the street and not be recognized. Or arrested. That would be extremely bad. Bars and me don't work well together; bars and me just don't mix. I'm, like, bars-a-phobic or something.

So here I am, cruising through the skyline with my Zorro/Erik mask- feeling like the world is all mine. Flying does that. Twisting through buildings, your feather's brushing the smooth glass. Even just sitting on top of one, without a railing to keep you from falling or a door to get inside the building. It gets you every time.

Regular old humans seem to think this too, so they stare at me a lot. And they're always trying to take those pictures! Which is why my superpower (superheros are either filthy rich or freaks of nature) comes in handy.

You see, I can halt the use of electrical devices. In other words, I can turn things off. There are no pictures or videos of me ANYWHERE. And I've, ever so politely (cough) asked the TV stations and newspapers to not make any mention of me. So what I threatened to short circuit their entire building (I think I can actually do that…as soon as I figure out how). That's a MINOR detail.

If you haven't figured it out, I don't want people to know about me. Evil scientists might still want to poke needles in me and stick me in a dog cage. And there are these other flying-freaks-of-nature. They freak me out, and it seems everyone is out to get them even though they're practically celebrities. I didn't want that; I was fine with where I was.

Anyway, I'm flying through the night and I see a guy getting beat up by some other guys. Well, they were attempting to beat him up. He was dodging their pitiful attempts. I was going to let it go because it looked like he knew what he was doing, when I saw the gleam of a knife being pulled. Uh oh, someone isn't playing nice. I, very quietly, started diving into the deepest, blackest part of the alley.

They were a bit busy so they didn't notice me in the shadows. Haven't they seen any movies? I've lived in a sewer most of my life and I knew the thing that would end up killing me ALWAYS came from the creepy shadows with a creepy soundtrack in the background. DUH.

I folded my wings tightly against my back and untied the sweatshirt that was around my waist. And then I, well, put it on and took off my mask, stuffing it in one of my huge pockets. I've found that getting beat up by a girl is WAY more humiliating than getting beat up by a superhero.

Stepping from the shadows (aww, no heroic music), I attempted to look like an normal, innocent girl. The beat-up-ee was giving me frantic eye signals as he saw me first and was trying to be the hero. Hel-lo. That was why I was there. I winked, which confused and distracted him enough that the delinquents actually got a hit on him. Oops.

"That wasn't very nice." I said. Everyone looked at me like in one of those movies. The hero-wanna-be could have gotten away, uncomplicating a lot of things for me. But nO, he had to stand there like a complete bonehead.

One of the guys, probably the leading lunkhead, grinned and looked at me like I was a T-bone steak. His lackeys chuckled like something was funny. So, either he was going to mug me in all of my girlish innocence or he was horny and wanted some.

"I guess I'm just a bad boy."

Horny. Defiantly horny.

"Really?" My eyes turned into wide saucers and his crooked grin became wider. He gave his henchmen one of those waving nods and they got back to business as he cornered me. The wall was cool against my back as I tried to look scared. When you've seen things that could qualify as nightmares for a good part of your life, then these guys wouldn't scare you much so this was a harder task than you might imagine.

He reached for my chest (which, I must point out, is somewhat non-existent), coming a bit closer. My foot connected with his groin. With a pitiful whimper, he crumpled, holding himself.

The lunkheads heard him go down and whipped around. The one with the knife turned back around and was ready to take care of the guy they seemed to hate. I lunged forward, seeing that he actually seemed to know how to used it. They didn't think I was very fast because they were so surprised when I had his wrist firmly in my grasp. The blade was about an inch from the guy's chest so I was a bit lucky.

"What the fu—" he started; I twisted his wrist, nearly breaking.

"Don't swear around a lady." I growled, kneeing his gut. He fell with a grunt.

One of them came up from behind me, he arm around my throat. The other two were getting up, slowly, but it was happening. Two other guys had the beat-up-ee pinned to the wall by the throat and were making a punching bag out of him. Instead of grabbing his hair, and smelly, arm, I elbowed him right between the ribs. His hold loosened but he didn't let go. Persistent little buggers.

The head hauncho stood, glaring at me, "You'll pay for that bitch."

"What did I say about swearing?" I growled, turning my head to the side and squirming myself out of the bear's grip. I kicked his knee in and he fell with cry of pain. Spinning, I swept my leg underneath the lead lunkhead. He fell too. Poor baby.

Jumping up, two other guys, the last two (other than the ones that seem to think human beings are punching bags) looked at me. Before they could think of anything to do, I roundhouse kicked one to the ground. The other caught hold of my sweatshirt hood and threw me into the wall. Ow.

So I turn around and grabbed his shirt, throwing him to the wall and then to the ground. That nose will never be the same. I threw myself across the ally, ramming into one of the punching machines. He made an acquaintance with the wall. The punching bag managed to get the other guy off of him and downed him.

"Thanks." The guys I'd just saved said, smiling at me. I wiped blood from my mouth and nodded. Then I bent down and pulled a wallet from the lead lunckhead's back pocket. "Are they okay?"

Apparently, he thought I was checking for a pulse or something. No chance.

"I dunno." I opened the wallet, wrinkling my nose. I could see why he was mugging someone, there was dust, a peanut shell and a twenty in here. I've seen richer squirrels.

I think he realized what I was doing when he asked, "What're doing?" Somehow, he thought stealing was wrong or something ridiculous like that.

"Receiving my well-deserved salary." I explained, "People gotta eat."

"But it's wrong!" He argued, suddenly mad at his savior.

That made ME mad. Who was he to tell me what was freaking wrong? My very existence was wrong! How dare he? Even though he's correct, he doesn't have the right to TELL me that!

"Let ME show you something that's wrong!" I hissed, grabbing his wrist. He tried to wrench his arm out of my grasp, but I had an iron grip.

I dragged him a few blocks and then turned down an alleyway. I let go and looked behind a dumpster.

A man in dirty, ripped clothing sat there. He looked up at me, smiling.

"Hey there, Robin." Yes, this is the one annoying guy that can call me Robin without getting his teeth punched out. "How's it going?"

"I've come by some extra cash, Pete. You wanna join me?" I asked, extending a hand. He took it and I pulled him up easily.

Pete is the only person I actually gave a rip about. He's the only human who knows about my secret-the whole wings and superpower package. Both of us frequent the gospel missions together. He's the one who first gave me the name Robin, the one who introduced me to movies even though he barely had any money. Heck, he taught me my ABC's.

"Who's your friend?" Pete asked nodding to the arrogant jerk.

"Friend?" I said the same time the jerk decided to introduce himself.

"Ash Scott."

"Hello Ash Scott," Pete extended his hand with a warm smile. Ash, after a breif hesitation, took it, "I'm Peter Wetren."

~Time Skip~

"He seemed nice." Pete broke the silence.

"Sure." I said, picking up a small rock and tossing it at the wall facing us. We'd just gotten back from a hearty meal at McDonalds's and were talking back where I'd found him.

"Come on Flygirl." Pete said, referring to an annoying nickname he used when we were alone. "You need to have friends other than old fogies like me.

"But they're all so stupid and immature." I growled, throwing another rock.

"You're supposed to be at your age!" Pete said, "not playing Robin Hood."

"I don't even know my age and this isn't a game, Pete," I said, very grumpy, "I'm helping a lot of people."

"And screwing a lot."

"They deserve it." I grinned, leaning into him. Sirens suddenly periced the night air. "Gotta go Petester."

"Don't get hurt." He said, sighing. I stood, putting on my Zorro/Erik mask and tying my sweatshirt tightly around my waist.

"I will." He raised his eyebrows, "I promise."

"Don't make promises you can't keep, Flygirl."

"I'm the superhero, remember? They always dominate." I grinned again, "Bye, Pete."

"What have I told you about saying goodbye?"

"To not to. Goodbye is forever." I smiled and took a few running steps deep into the ally, then took off. My wings barely fit in the ally but I manage to get high enough to not run into any buildings.

"Here I go." I flew after the blinking lights and shrieking sirens.

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I update faster when you reveiw. Just a pointer.


	2. Chapter 2: The Fire

A.N:

You guys are reading but I have no idea who you are!

ANYwho, this is the second chappie. Enjoy.

_

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"If you ever catch on fire, try to avoid seeing yourself in the mirror, because I bet that''s what really throws you into a panic." ~ Jack Handey_

"_It has _**nothing**_to do with BEING ON FIRE. Nope, not AT ALL." ~Trix_

**Chapter 2**

**_The Fire_**

I followed the sound, soaring above the fire trucks. We turned a corner. Holy. Freaking. Crap. That was a lot of fire.

Fun, fun, fun.

I landed next to a guy that looked like he was in charge. Everyone jumped. A TV camera swung towards me. I shut it off with no problem, along with every communications device except for the firemen's walkie-talkies

"You need any help?" I asked, folding my arms over my chest and leaning on one leg. The chief-due stood, his mouth agape, then nodded, accepting my existence.

"I can't ask a citizen—"

"Good news for you. I'm not a citizen of any country." He blinked in surprise, but accepted this. I started to like him—he didn't panic _and _he would take a complete stranger's help.

"We need to get to the top floors. The stairs on the bottom have collapsed."

"Are the floors going to collapse under my weight?"

He shook his head, "The fire originated in the basement. We've slowed it's progress but we can't get to any people still up there unless they're on the roof. Getting my men up there would be too dangerous. As soon as that fire spreads, there's no way we could get to them."

I nodded, knowing he wasn't trying to kill me; he just understood flight would be a huge advantage. And that he couldn't stop me very easily. The police with the guns could, but I've been avoiding them for a while now.

"How long do I have?"

"Maybe two hours if we can keep any control."

"Get me some chow and I'll be able to do it." Confusion. There was a whole lot of confusion. "What's the lowest floor I can get to easily and safely?"

"Probably the 8th, though there'll be a lot of smoke."

"Just dunk a handkerchief in water and I can breathe through it."

"That isn't a lot of protection."

"It isn't like I'm planning to set up a retirement home in there!"

I got it and tied it around my face. Taking off, I aimed for the 8th floor. I dove through a window, which I don't recommend doing. It hurts like crap and you'll be pulling glass out of your skin for a long time.

"Note to self; doors are a very good idea. Throw rocks at windows; not yourself." I stopped talking to myself after standing again. "Hello?" I called. My eyes stung from the profuse amounts of smoke. I was glad for the handkerchief-turned-mask. "Anyone here?"

I checked each room in each apartment…no one. Then a better idea popped into my brain; I jumped out of the window. Now, don't do this unless you're a mutant freak with a fourteen-foot wingspan.

After circling the building twice to gain momentum. I shot up to the roof. A group of people was huddled together. They had those looks—the ones that tell you that you're two hairs away from panicking. It went to about a hair when I popped out of nowhere.

I landed near them.

"Is there anybody still in the building?" I had to yell over the wailing sirens, crying children, and nearing helicopter blades.

"A boy ran down there to get my son!" a man yelled back. He was holding a sobbing woman close. Darn it.

"Which floor?"

"The 6th." As you can tell, my luck is just stellar. Did I grumble and complain? No. Well, I jumped off the building first. I assure you, most of my sanity is in place. Lets face it, if I was completely sane, my story wouldn't be at all interesting.

I had to circle the building six or seven times because a kindergartner can count better than I can. After those wasted minutes, I dove into an open window. No more shattering windows _with my head._

The first thing I noticed is that excessive smoke and eyes do not mix. My body went on the defensive, and soon protective tears were streaming from my eyes. For those of you that know me, you know that crying puts me in a bad mood. So I blame the smoke on all of the yelling later on.

I'd checked the apartment that I'd entered and had, getting more and more angry as more tears fell from my eyes as smoke irritated them. Then I heard crying, following closely was a scream. I sprinted towards the sound. THAT went well with my lungs. Coughing my organs out, I cam across a figure that I recognized carrying a little boy.

He whirled around and I just got angrier. It was Mr. Goody-two-shoes, Ash Scott. Thank God I had my mask—or my secret identity would have been shot. Due to my wanted status, that is. That would be the worst thing that could happen to me. Well, that and being kidnapped by a bunch of crazy scientists.

"I can't find my way out!" Ash said, holding the little kid close. He then proceeded to cough like a ninety year old smoker.

"Idiot!" I screamed, glaring at him through the tears and smoke. "Follow me!" Without another word, I grabbed (gently…I'm not heartless) the kid and wrapped the sweatshirt, the one tied to my waist—in case you forgot—around his face so he didn't choke on smoke. "Follow me!" I repeated, running towards where I thought the stairs were. Good new—don't you love it when someone says that? It always leads to something bad. Anyway, the good news is that I was right about the stair thing. Bad news—you knew that was coming—it was all smoke and fire was climbing up.

"How lovely. You just complicated things." I tried to keep my voice under control my voice for the kid's sake, but I had to clench my teeth to do so.

"What?"

"You'll explode like a hot dog put in a microwave too long if you try to go up those stairs," though that would be a nice thermal, "If could fly if it was just the kid but, non, you had to be the hero and rescue him!" My voice raised a teensy bit and I coughed…okay, I was barely in control. I admit it, so sue me.

"How was I supposed to know that you'd show up!" He hissed at me, coughing. The kid started to cry so I held him closer and we shut up.

"Stay here," I ordered, and started sprinting. Then I, hacking, stopped and turned, "Better yet, follow me." I kicked down the nearest door to the nearest apartment door and headed for a window. If it was just me, I might've crashed through it, despite the pain, but there was the boy to think about and people that might be below. He was coughing well, we all were having a hack-fest but he was the worst, so I knew he needed to get medical help right away. "Take the window off," I said to Ash. Coughing, he complied. I guess he saw the sense in a girl with wings FLYING.

It took him longer than expected due to his excessive coughing, not that I would have done much better. As soon as the glass was replaced with space, I climbed onto the sill. People screamed, in a panic, as I fell until I jerked back when I unfurled my wings. God, that _hurts_.

Swooping down, I went directly to the paramedics. Their eyes were _way_ bigger than they should have been until I handed them the ever-hacking child. Then, surprising me, they stopped gaping at the mutant and got to work. Really, I shouldn't have been –these were the people that saved lives on 9/11. (A.N. Thank you SO much, you, the firemen, the police officers, and the volunteers are heroes!)

"Oh my God!" A woman screaming, pointing towards the building (how rude), "There's still a boy up there!" Way to state the obvious.

Smoke was now pouring from the windows I'd opened. There hadn't been that much smoke before. And now the smoke was almost gone. I ran to the fire chief, in a bit of a worse mood than I was previously.

"How can a fire produce THAT much smoke, then it just disappears?!" I lost it.

"Fire feeds off oxygen and when it doesn't get enough, it produces smoke. Those windows just gave it smoke."

"So it's getting bigger?!" A nod.

I screamed a synonym for 'cow pie' about fifteen times as I ran and lifted off. Swearing that much and coughing at the same time makes flying really hard.

Ash, who'd been waving desperately, was slowing his movements. I circled back, not willing to go around the flaming building to gain height. I saw everything. The stuff no one else saw because they have regular human vision.

His arms stopped, he coughed, his eyes rolled back. He fell. Out. The. Window.

First, everyone stopped, then came the screaming. I dove for him, I didn't particularly like him but I wasn't going to let him die.

Let's just say I didn't think this through. I weigh practically nothing for a reason. When I caught him, I nearly died from falling myself. Somehow, only God knows how, I got him to the ground where I collapsed to my hands and knees in fits of coughing. Firemen and paramedics ran for us. They put him on a stretcher and helped me stand, leading me to an ambulance.

Oxygen is the best thing in the world, and I love those masks is comes out of. The people who gave them to me weren't that bad either. I guess, because of their job, they've seen some pretty weird stuff over the years, so my wings didn't bother them too much. Though they did stare at them a lot.

A few minutes later, Ash had already been shipped to the hospital, I saw a few police officers start towards me with serious looks on their faces. Still feeling a burning in my tortured lungs, I handed the oxygen mask back with a gruff, "Thanks."

The po-po saw this action and reached for the guns. I don't like guns. If it were up to me, we'd all go back to medieval weapons like bows and arrows—so we could see who we were killing. Most people don't want to kill other people, much less see the light go from their eyes, so we just _wouldn't_. Pushing a button and killing a city full of people that are living their lives day-to-day is a _smidge_ impersonal, don't ya think?

Anyway, I nearly turned into a target practice until the fire-chief distracted them. I swear, if I just hated showing emotion to all but Pete, I may have kissed him. But…yeah…out of the question.

Instead, I just flew away. The paramedics yelled about taking me to the hospital to 'observe' me, and the police screamed about freezing and putting my hands in the air. I did the whole hands thing, but if you've ever flown, you know stopping midair doesn't work out too well, so I didn't comply.

Oh. Freaking. Well.

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A.N.

So, please reveiw.

You can say, "I read it." If you want. I know people are reading, I just want to know who you are.

And if you really liked it, please say so. If you hated it, please elborate and tell me why.


	3. Chapter 3: Memories and Unlonliness

AN: I'm sorry it's taken me so long to update this...I've been doing a lot with school: getting ready to graduate, finding a collage, financial aid, and still having a social life.

As if.

Anyway, it's here.

Disclaimer: I don't own the Institue or NYC. Everything else, Trix and all other characters besides the flock, Ari, and Jeb are mine. No matter how much I wish, James isn't selling them to me. _Sigh_

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_"Friendship needs no words - it is solitude delivered from the anguish of loneliness. " ~ Dag Hammarskjold_

_"What if there are only too that have delievered you? Is the loneliness just less stron for us mutants that we're not allowed to feel it because we're made of different stuff from humans?" ~ Trix_

**Chapter 3:**

**Memories and Unlonliness**

Never again. Muggings; perfect. Gang violence; no problem. Hostage situations; fine. No more fires, though. My lungs can't take the smoke and my arms are red with burns. It kills. Trying to fly and hack up my essential organs doesn't work out too well. My hair was singed, no to mention my feathers, and it all was really annoying. Okay, more than annoying. I hated it with an extreme passion.

At one point, I had to stop flying because I couldn't breathe. That's never happened before. Gunshots, yes, but not lack of breathing. My lungs are specially made for the thin air so you can see my problem. The smoke made me feel half crippled and that was the part I hated the most. I had to take care of myself from the time when Max broke me out.

_I_ rummaged the dumpsters and determined by trial and error what was edible and what was actual refuse.

_I _stole from punks who got their fortune from the depths of women's purses so I could buy clothes from Goodwill.

_I_ offered to clean up the dojo of the nearest martial arts place, to all of the messy stuff, if they'd train me to defend myself. Luckily, Sensei is amazingly kind so he let me. For me it wasn't enough, though.

So just when I'd started to regret not going with Max and her insane gang, Pete found me. A group of guys had gotten a few lucky punches in…okay, so I had the crap beaten out of me…big deal. When I told this random guy, no, I _begged_ him not to take me to the hospital, and he agreed, something was born. It wasn't friendship, not even trust, but it was something that I hadn't had before.

He showed me how to really _live_ instead of just surviving. He took me to homeless shelters, even took me to church a few times, not that that worked. For a while, he tried to convince me to go back to the family I'd run away from. Until I showed him my wings. He stopped after that.

He and Sensei showed me that humanity really isn't as bad as I thought. The scientists were pure evil, but humanity by itself wasn't.

So I fight on their behalf, at least in New York City. It works.

Banking, I landed on the roof of a slightly run down apartment building, like something you'd see on _Friends_. Before I had a chance to land even slightly gracefully, I collapsed. I coughed so hard that I was crying and I lay back, tilting my chin up as if someone was performing CPR on me so I could breathe more clearly.

Soon my body, sides split from the coughing, stopped its hack-fest. My breath was still a bit ragged, but I'd live. Hopefully.

"Oh God, that hurts. I hate fire. I hate it, hate it, hate it!" Fire and I have a history, but it hurts too much to think of it, so it's neatly shoved into that forbidden part of my brain that is surrounded by walls and little Trix's with guns to keep me away from within it.

Okay, so I have a lot of free time too. That's where the little Trix's come from. So sue me.

Sitting up, I folded in my wings and winced; my sweatshirt was gone. I'd have to get a new one or inform the world that mutants exist and get stalked by several governments and science freaks, even if they're good people. I don't care how much good it'll do the world, no one is going to start putting me on TV shows and interviewing me when they talk about real-life mad scientists.

Then I curled into a little ball, hugging my knees. I smelled of the smoke that I still could feel churning in my lungs. It didn't matter; that smelled a few gazillion times better than medicine and needles and the chemicals that sterilize said equipment. Thought the smell of smoke almost brought forth those heavily guarded memories, the memories that the latter smell brought up didn't have a chance of staying in a locked away part of my brain.

It hasn't been a year since I was freed from the Institute. Max was known, but they were still hidden. Only a few camera shots had been taken so far. I had no idea where she was and that was okay with me because she and her flock had to be trouble. That much was obvious when one of the whitecoats had calmed down after the death of his Eraser-fied son just to _talk_ to the chick. You can see my point, right? Would you have gone with the friend of someone that experimented on you? And that Eraser, Ari or whatever, hadn't been like the others. He was…well…he only hated that Max. So much so that you had to wonder if it was really hate.

Taking a few breaths, I tried to block all of that out. It was hard, but I managed to and I sat up. The effort made me shake so I didn't try to stand. Might as well not rush things. Like, ever.

I looked off the edge of the building with a sigh. A very long sigh that made me cough again.

"Pete's gonna kill me," I thought out loud, my voice lost in the heavy traffic below me.

Decided that I might as well not stall the fact that I needed a sweatshirt, I stood, my knees shaky. My wings spread out and I coughed once, hoping that would be one less cough while I was trying to fly and kill all cameras while doing so to make sure there weren't any pictures of me.

The squeak of a door opening, the gasp of a little human. The movement of a hand digging in a pocket for the camera phone. Without really thinking about it, I killed the power on the phone. The person, a man, cursed underneath his breath. I turned, smirked, "Don't swear around lady," and jumped.

The ultra-quick footsteps that had started faded from my ears as the wind whirled inside them. I swooped upwards, reaching out to find any digital recording devices and temporarily turning them off. It would take time for them to gain their battery power again so I wasn't worried as I rose on the thermals caused by the extreme traffic.

People pointed and I coughed, trying to rise to the clouds so I didn't have to see them.

The lucky ones. The ones not stolen from hospitals and waiting parents and turned into freaks.

"No self-pity. It isn't allowed." I told myself, coughing again. At least I could breathe now. That was a plus.

Then a thought popped into my head and I grinned, looking at the world below. There were plenty of alley's below me with punks that had so much money they couldn't possibly spend it all. Except on taxes. Always on those stupid taxes.

I dove ungracefully down into one and folded my wings tightly against my back. I knew I looked and smelled like a mixture of a campfire and melting steel, so I didn't bother attempting to appear slightly normal.

A group of guys came and, bingo, one had a large sweatshirt with a school logo. _Heh, at least I don't have to go to _school_. One for the mutant freak!_

"Excuse me," I said in my weakest, most helpless voice possible. The guys turned towards my voice and I stepped from the dumpster I was hiding behind, mask and all. The shock in their eyes told me I looked worse than I'd originally thought.

"Hey, you okay?"

Wow. Decent folk of the male species. This has got to be the apocalypse or something of that sort. Jeezum.

Even though their words surprised me, I managed to bite back a razor sharp remark about how I was obviously the opposite of okay.

"I…need some help." I said quietly, because it was the truth and I was more uncomfortable with the truth than I was about something as trivial as a lie. Oh well. We'll save morals for another day.

"How can we help?" it was the guy with the sweatshirt I needed. The words, the tone of the voice, reminded me of Pete. Of Sensei when he knew I was in a mood because of my freakishness.

"Um…well…I need your sweatshirt," I had been planning to seduce him and force him to give up the sweatshirt but, not only would I feel like a complete jerk, but then I would start to feel like the ones that I was against, the jerks who stole purses and such things like that.

The guys were surprised, to say the least. They were expecting something less…like that, apparently. Like money, which they would have refused because I looked and probably smelled like a druggy.

A question was in their eyes along with their empathy. Did they pity me or really feel for me? There is a difference, if you didn't know.

So I did something really stupid and not-think-through-y. I unfurled my wings a bit.

At first, they looked like they wanted to run. To find somebody in charge and tell them about the freaky bird-girl in the alley. Then he took off his sweatshirt. It was white with the word love made into a square and the O of love was a heart. Where had I seen that symbol?

"Here," he said, holding it out for me to take. I hesitated, biting my lip.

Only Pete had ever done something like this. Only he'd dared interfere with the ten year old that had lived in hell and survived.

"Seriously, take it or I'll feel really bad." He said. Great tactic. Make me feel like I was helping him so I didn't feel like a complete jerk.

The sad thing is that it worked.

"Thank you," I said, looking him in the eye. They were kind.

"It's no problem. Really. I'm glad to help," he smiled and I didn't know what to do. Really, what was I supposed to do? Fall madly in love. I don't think so.

"I owe ya one." I said, gathering my shattered nerves. Jerks that mug girls at night; that I could handle. Guys that give sweatshirts to complete strangers, heck no.

"Just remember that you're never alone," he said. Some of his friends nodded, others looked like they had to choose between laughing or throwing up.

I wanted to say something but couldn't get the words out so I nodded as if I knew what he was talking about. As if. Mutants don't get stuff like that. We're designed to do as we're told, not think about the words of normal humans.

"Uh, thanks again." I took a step. I meant to take it backwards but my nerves had gotten all mixed up or something and it was in the opposite direction. I needed to get out of here. The kindness was suffocating. The walls of the alley trying to press on me, crush me. Closing my eyes for a moment, I gathered my scattered resolve and turned around, sprinting down the other end of the alley and spreading my wings as far as they would go. I'd chose a fairly large alley so, though my feathers scraped the edges of rusty fire-escapes, I took off with my large wingspan. _Thank goodness I'm not as old as Max…I never would have gotten out of there._

The sweatshirt was clumped between my hands. And I grasped it tightly. Another alley. Then to a Wal-Mart in a suburb so I could steal some fabric spray paint so no one would recognize it. So those guys wouldn't see me on the street and stop me with eyes that reminded me that they knew my secret.

"I'm dead. If Pete doesn't kill me, Sensei definitely will."

I dove onto a building, tearing off the mask and folding in my wings tightly against my spine and putting on the sweatshirt. It was soft and I breathed it in. New clothes, even when used, always felt good. This was even better because I hadn't stolen it from anyone. No lecture for me!

I opened the door to the roof and went down the stairs at a speed that no puny human being could match. Then I stopped because my lungs disagreed with my actions.

Have I mentioned how much I hate smoke?

So I had to walk down the stairs like a normal person. How boring. Jumping off of buildings is way more fun.

That is if you have wings. Otherwise it ends up a bit messy. Not to make the subject less than it is or anything; it's just the truth.

When I walked outside, I was expecting to be blinded. No such luck.

It turns out time passes whether you're conscious of it or not. The sky was orange and red with dark purple clouds staining the fire of it all. I'm not the poet or anything, but it really was kind of pretty with the buildings tearing into it and stuff.

Okay, so I _could_ be a poet if I wasn't busy with trying to gain a life that I could speak of. But I can barely spell 'cat' much less write anything related to a poem.

I sighed, sticking my hands in the huge kangaroo pocket of the sweatshirt when I heard something that chilled me to the bone.

"_Hey Trix, you miss me?"_

* * *

_I hope you liked it!_


End file.
